


Softer on the Inside

by Tarlan



Series: Inside Outside [2]
Category: Traders (TV 1995)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-19
Updated: 2007-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-20 18:12:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul is a shark in the banking world and that should have made him feel proud. He thought all he wanted was money and power but all he can think of is Grant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Softer on the Inside

**Author's Note:**

> For **lizardbeth_j** because she is a Paul Deeds fan :-)

Paul leaned over the balcony railing, looking down across the trading floor but the person he most wanted to see was not there. They had all arrived this morning to the shocking news that Marty Stevens had been stabbed last night, his barely alive body found by McLeod and Grant only moments after the attack.

Grant had been here earlier and Paul could see he was distraught, blaming himself for being the one to let the murderess into the building. That was just like Grant though. He would have recognized her face from a trip in the elevator, from before she read Steven's damn book and threw away her career and all her money, believing she would make a fortune on the markets instead. He would have recognized her face and fallen for her pleading to be let in; a lost pass card, left behind in a briefcase beside her desk. Something like that. She had banked on him being gullible and, probably for the first time in months, had speculated correctly.

If life and the crash in the market hadn't been kicking him hard in the balls - and worse, in the bank balance - then he might have done something earlier when he saw Grant standing on the floor with his arms wrapped around himself. He might have acted, perhaps taken Grant aside and talked to him, persuaded him that shit happened and it was no one's fault this time. He could have told Grant that if he had not opened the door then she would have lain in wait for Marty and, perhaps no one would have been around to find him before he bled out. If he and McLeod hadn't been more than just colleagues, if they hadn't been concerned for Steven's health after his collapse from stress on the floor earlier, then perhaps someone else would have let her in and Steven's would be dead now instead of hanging onto life in the ICU, his body found by the first people to arrive early this morning.

Unfortunately, what Paul wanted was out of reach right now, in more ways than one. The market had crashed following an ill-timed and ill-thought out statement from some pathetic Government figure and everyone was clamoring for help, and panicking. He had lost 2.1 million from his own portfolio already and the descent had looked to take him even further into the hole with every passing minute except he could tell by the lessening of tension on the floor that it was leveling off now. Perhaps the market would start to rise and he could recoup his losses. Perhaps Grant would return and he could take him aside.

Where was Grant?

"Did you know him?"

MJ Sullivan was not the kind of person he could ever trust. She was an ambitious schemer, like him, and he would only be her 'partner' for as long as he remained useful, dropped the moment he could no longer aid in her objectives. Yes, just like him. Just like the way he had treated Ian earlier, throwing Ian to the RCMP concerning the Zimler Laboratories deal that had turned sour on GRC. None of them knew Zimler was selling bioweapons. Zimler had managed to hide that little fact beneath all the agricultural jargon but having the RCMP sniffing around him was never good timing, especially now when he needed to concentrate on salvaging both his and GRC's assets.

"Not particularly."

He regretted the words the moment they fell from his lips because MJ glanced towards the floor, trying to see what he was looking at, looking for that little piece of future blackmail material, so Paul was almost grateful Grant wasn't there. If she had seen him staring at Grant then she might have put two and two together...or should that be one and one.

He twisted his lips and recovered quickly, talking of his losses. Now her attention was on the whole floor rather than on a missing piece, a missing person.

He hadn't spoken to Grant for a couple of months, not since that morning when they rode the elevator together after some of the best sex Paul had ever had. He had wanted more. He had wanted Grant but something had gone crazy with both of them, and then Grant was gone and there never seemed to be the right time to just turn up on the man's doorstep and invite himself in for 'beer'.

MJ seemed satisfied with his reason for staring down at the trading floor but Paul knew he would have to be more careful around the scheming little bitch.

A few hours later and Paul was regretting ever coming into the office this morning. His face hurt and Adam's comment had stung, mainly because it was true. With the market gaining strength after a near collapse, there were plenty of weak and ignorant people out there simply waiting to be fed upon by a banking shark like him, and unlike Ian, he had the predatory instincts. What surprised him was that Adam had not meant it as a compliment. Adam, who was one of the biggest sharks in the pool, had seemed almost ashamed of him even though he was the one giving him the go ahead.

A few more hours later and the day was almost over. He had set up a meeting with a prospective client, one of those stupid fish not realizing she was swimming with the sharks. She smiled and simpered across the restaurant table, toasting their possible partnership in Champagne and Paul knew how she wanted to seal the deal. He smiled and followed her from the hotel restaurant to her room, waiting until the door closed behind them before reaching out and pulling her into his arms.

She kissed like a wet fish and it took all of his considerable skill not to pull away in disgust.

Fucking her was worse, hearing her high pitch squeals, seeing her smeared lipstick and running mascara, feeling his cock swallowed by that cavernous wet vagina when what he wanted was the tight heat of some asshole.

Afterwards, he acted the part and plastered a satisfied smile on his face but, inside, he felt more violated than he had with Andrew. He felt like he had sold his soul. After he had spent a decent amount of time pandering to her post-coital needs, Paul made his excuses and slipped away, showering and dressing quickly before leaving her room, though not before she had signed the papers. He was halfway home when he figured out the truth.

It wasn't just her at fault. It was the fault of anyone who wasn't Grant.

Andrew might have given him his first homosexual experience but Grant had made it right, made it perfect. Grant and his firm, smooth ass; Grant with his soft voice and blue eyes and almost childlike mind. Grant and his passion and love, and his way of seeing through the _mean_ covering his outside to the softer core that he revealed to no one...except to Grant that one night.

With a snarl of frustration, he turned the car around and headed towards Grant's apartment. He found it easy enough and buzzed to be let in, something hard within him starting to melt at the hesitant words coming through the speaker.

"Who is it?"

"It's Paul. I...I'd like a beer."

A pause. "I-I don't have any beer. I'm not supposed to drink it now."

Paul stared at the speaker in confusion. "Perhaps you could invite me in anyway."

"Okay."

The buzzer sounded and a gentle push opened the door. He climbed the stairs and knocked on the apartment door, trying to keep the impatience from showing on his face as he heard the locks turning within. The door opened and there was Grant looking incredibly young and vulnerable with his longer hair and thinner face. His blue eyes looked haunted though, the toll of the day visible in the shadows of fatigue under his eyes. His eyes softened in welcome though as he stepped back and allowed Paul to enter.

The apartment was large and open with hardly any furnishings to speak of, except for computer equipment that had been shoved to one side, mostly disconnected. Paul could see a large bed in the far corner, the covers rumpled as if Grant had only just crawled from between the sheets.

"I can go if you want but I want..." Want what exactly? Sex? Maybe. Grant? Definitely. "I want you."

Grant pulled a container of pills from his pocket, opened the lid and pulled out one tablet. He popped it into his mouth and swallowed, staring at Paul anxiously as if he was expecting him to suddenly disappear. He seemed confused at first, and then pleased, his crooked mouth lifting in a smile, eyes brightening.

"You're real."

It was Paul's turn to feel confused, his eyes dropping to the medication in Grant's hand.

"Haliperadol. I was a little... unwell for a time but I'm better now."

Paul nodded, finally making sense of the past few months. The pills were anti-psychotics and that explained Grant's weird behavior and his sudden disappearance from GRC...and reappearance only two days earlier. Paul smiled and stepped in closer, reaching out to run his hands over Grant's chest, smoothing the rumpled shirt that he wore. His palm brushed over a nipple, feeling it tighten and peak beneath the thin cotton, smiling as Grant's breath hitched, a fine shiver running through both of them. He leaned in and kissed the sweet lips, feeling them part beneath his questing tongue, opening to let him in, soft and perfect. His hands rose, cradling Grant's face, holding him to the kiss with gentle pressure, aware that Grant had only to take a step back if he wanted it to end. He didn't move though. He didn't pull away but melted into the kiss with a tremulous moan full of need, a moan that Paul echoed, feeling a sob crawling up his throat, desperate to get out.

He pulled back, licking his tingling lips and staring into desire and despair darkened eyes.

Paul fumbled with the buttons on Grant's shirt, needing to reach naked flesh and sighed as his fingers grazed warm, silken skin, a touch memory triggered that seemed to erase that of the woman whose bed he had left less than an hour earlier. Memories of that last time flooded back and, before it truly registered, they were both naked, sprawled across Grant's rumpled bed, with Paul's fingers slick with lube and opening Grant. When he pushed in, the velvet channel gripping his cock tightly, Paul gave a ragged sigh of pleasure. This was what he had needed. Not her, not any of them. Only Grant.

Beneath him, Grant writhed, pushing back in counterpoint to Paul's thrusts and Paul pulled on Grant's hips, dragging onto hands and knees as he tried to go deeper, harder into the welcoming body and yet still it was not enough. He pulled out abruptly when the reason became clear, tearing a cry of loss from Grant, and he shushed him with soft kisses and gentle caresses on his sweaty back.

"Want to see you. Want to see your face."

He turned Grant and grabbed a pillow, sliding it under Grant to cant his hips upwards, and pushing Grant's knees back towards his chest before pushing back inside his lover in one single but oh-so carefully controlled thrust. He kept his eyes on Grant's face, falling into lust-darkened, sex-glazed blue eyes, erasing all memory of the woman he had fucked earlier. It was enough. More than enough, and he came hard, sobbing his release even as he felt Grant clench around him, semen spurting between them, coating groin, belly and chest.

Laughing almost hysterically, he collapsed onto Grant's gasping body and knew he was being pathetic because he hadn't cried in years and now he couldn't stop the flood as laughs turned to sobs. He felt Grant's strong arms and legs tighten around him, holding him so hard that he could barely breath for a moment but this was what he needed. All that money and all that power meant nothing. All that biting and kicking and back-stabbing as he clawed his way to the top had not made him happy. He had built a hard shell around his feelings, around his heart, but Grant had slipped between that tiny chink in his armor, a chink widened by Adam's disappointment in him earlier.

"I'm a cold-hearted bastard," he whispered. "I robbed a kid of her intellectual property rights, I just came from fucking over an old lady for her money."

"You...hurt someone?"

He snorted. "She won't feel the pain for a few months, and then it'll be agony for her...and for the others."

Gently, he pulled out of Grant's body, holding the condom tightly this time as it loosened against his softening penis. He tied it off and dropped it on the bedside cabinet to be disposed of later, and flopped down next to Grant.

"Donald called you a shark."

He dropped his forearm over his eyes. "I've been called much worse."

"You don't have to be."

Paul thought of Ian, breaking even in his last deal when he did not have the guts to tear apart the car firm and sell it off for a profit, just like Jack Larkin had turned around Algonquin Air. Both had shown some compassion and put people before money, and Paul had repaid Ian's compassion by throwing him to the RCMP wolves. Adam would get him off the charge though, of that Paul was certain but it did not change the fact that he had betrayed Ian just to gain a little time to recoup his losses following the market crash rather than spend it answering useless questions down at the police station.

Grant's words echoed through his head...You don't have to be.

He didn't have to be the destroyer, the lone shark circling the unwary, scenting the blood in the water and going in for the kill but he didn't know how to change. Or perhaps he was too afraid to change. He turned his head and looked into Grant's concerned eyes. Christ, they were both fucked up as people. Grant with his anti-psychotic medication and him with his bordering on sociopath tendencies. What a pair they made, but if Grant could control his psychosis through medication then surely he could try to curb his predatory aggression, try to become a better person.

Paul rolled onto his side and gathered Grant into his arms, falling back so Grant was resting against him, head on Paul's shoulder.

It was worth a try as long as he had Grant to be his conscience.

THE END


End file.
